


A Subtle Knife

by dementedsiren



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-23
Updated: 2011-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-27 21:22:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/300172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dementedsiren/pseuds/dementedsiren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the end Lucius has to admit that the ax was more than apt. For Underlucius' birthday, 2005.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Subtle Knife

**Author's Note:**

  * For [underlucius](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=underlucius).



In the end Lucius has to admit, the ax was more than apt.

Walden Macnair, with all of his strength and all of his bluster, could not be more well-suited to such an instrument. The control that it required, the physical power and the self-confidant movement – it was in Walden’s every move, as natural as the heavy breaths he puffed into the cool air.

The lack of finesse, as well, was suited. If there was one thing Walden Macnair was not, it was subtle.

In the beginning that had been what had drawn Lucius to him. The risk of fucking someone so crass, of being fucked by someone with so few scruples and no idea of discretion… Tt had been a risk he’d been loathe to take and he’d loved it all the more for that. It hadn’t kept him from placing coercion after layered coercion on the man, or from taking more concrete measures that even Walden Macnair couldn’t help but notice (though the blade had been subtle in the purest, sharpest, sense, the message of steel against windpipe had not been). Lucius liked to think of himself as a conscientious lover when the mood struck, though, and, oddly, the mood had been wrapped around him since their dalliance had began.

Thinking back, Lucius was sure it was the contradiction of tenderness coming from such a brute source that had undone him.

And Walden, for all of his strength, all of his bluster and all of his power, had been mercilessly tender. Hands thick with the calluses of the death trade had been as soft as silk, sliding carefully down Lucius’ chest, his hips, his cock. And Walden’s tongue was more gifted in the arts of love than Lucius’ own was in the art of manipulation; in fact, when it came to tongues and flesh, Walden was by far the more skilled manipulator of the two. It had been a shock and a pleasant, if frightening, surprise to learn. It had been pleasure after unbearable pleasure ever since. Pleasure in force, in penetration, in unholy shrieks and the soft rub of skin on skin. Walden was an intuitive man, with a sense of timing that no one in Lucius’ experience had ever matched, be it by the fall of the blade or the touch of kindness that pulled trembling words from Lucius’ mouth.

At times he almost liked the executioner. Those were the times Lucius laughed at himself for, if there was one sentiment he felt overqualified to mock, it was affection. Especially in the case of Walden Macnair, whose tender hands betrayed more than he knew and whose manipulations only served to reinforce Lucius’ own.

Walden, who knew nothing of Lucius’ plans except what Lucius wanted him to know. Simple, complex, dedicated Walden, who the Dark Lord trusted for the very same qualities that made him Lucius’ preferred lover, and preferred target. Walden, who took tenderness in return for tenderness as a sign of loyalty.

At times Lucius almost hated the man for being so eager, so blind in his trust. It took away whatever satisfaction Lucius might have had in the endeavor, to know that he betrayed one who would never expect it. Affection was a tool and, for one so adept in avoiding its touch, Lucius was loathe to use it at all – he knew better than to expect it to flow solely one way.

Lucius laughed at himself quite often, really. More than he liked to admit.

He was laughing now, a cold wind stealing the noise and shredding it midair.

The ax was more than apt. And the wet thud of head on stone covered any sounds of protest Lucius’ conscience may have made.

The Dark Lord’s presence was a chill behind him and it took all of Lucius’ own subtlety to make it seem as if his shudders were against only the wind.

“You’ve done well in uncovering the traitor, Malfoy. His betrayal, and your loyalty, will not be forgotten.”

“Thank you, my Lord.”

For a moment, Lucius considers regret. But, as he manipulates others, so he manipulates himself. By the time he turns back towards his Master Lucius' gaze is filled only with a bitter satisfaction.


End file.
